


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Extra Treat, Fluff, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 09:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16365185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: The rain had started at dawn and hardly let up at all, and Javert had been foolish enough to walk to the station in the morning. He had been damp all day. By the end of it, it didn’t seem necessary to take a cab to Valjean’s house. He’d hardly justify the expense when he was already wet from the rain.





	Cold Hands, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> Just a little teeny extra treat!

Valjean’s blasted hut was hardly the place that Javert believed the man deserved, but he was grateful at least to not only be allowed to cross the threshold but to be welcomed to do so. 

Theirs was an odd arrangement, or at least Javert supposed it was. He’d never had another true friend to know for sure. But from the moment he had recovered from his leap into the water and gone back to his old lodgings, he had found himself drawn back to Valjean’s side. 

And he was welcome. 

They would sit together late into the night – sometimes talking, sometimes not – sharing half a bottle of wine and the simple joy that came from each other’s company. And if Javert left with a strange feeling in his chest that he could not name, or caught himself watching the play of shadows over Valjean’s white hair, he kept it to himself. 

On this particular night, he was exceptionally keen to make it to the hut. It had been a filthy day. The rain had started at dawn and hardly let up at all, and Javert had been foolish enough to walk to the station in the morning. He had been damp all day. By the end of it, it didn’t seem necessary to take a cab to Valjean’s house. He’d hardly justify the expense when he was already wet from the rain. Besides, his greatcoat kept out the worst of the weather. 

He would admit, however, to being grateful for the moment he arrived at Valjean’s door. Light shone in the small windows, and he wondered if Valjean had indulged in a fire for the first time in the season. 

The door swung open as soon as he knocked, as though Valjean had been waiting. 

“Javert! Did you walk here?”

It was not the greeting he was expecting, and he did also did not expect to be dragged inside by his wet sleeve.

“You know what the doctor said about your lungs,” Valjean said, reaching up to help him off with his coat. 

“Good evening to you too,” Javert said, trying to ignore the heat on his cheeks. Valjean was right, of course, and he had not even thought of it. 

“Good evening.” Valjean took the coat and hung it from the stand in the corner, and asked again. “Did you walk here?”

“It is too late now to be concerned about it.”

Valjean just shook his head and sighed, but when Javert finally met his eyes, he was glad to find that the man looked mostly amused. There was a fire burning in the grate, and Valjean propelled him towards it. 

“Can I at least dry your shirt and jacket for you?” Valjean asked.

Javert was tempted to argue and insist he did not need to be treated like a child, but Valjean looked at him so imploringly that he could hardly be brutish about it. 

He nodded and shrugged out of his jacket, his hands so cold that he could hardly work the buttons. 

Valjean took it and hung it in front of the fireplace. Javert rested his hands on his wet shirt. Valjean had seen him in worse states of undress than this, of course, but that was something he had tried very hard to put out of his mind. If he thought too much about it, he’d never come to visit again. 

“Here.”

Valjean appeared with a dry shirt and held it out, before giving him a wry grin and pointedly turning his back. Javert flushed and struggled out of his shirt, unsure if he was blushing because of the heat from the fire or because he actually would rather that Valjean hadn’t turned away. 

He put on the dry shirt and then rose himself to hang his own next to his jacket. Valjean’s spare shirt was too short for his arms but thankfully loose across the chest, for he was not sure he could bear being exposed in something too tight. 

When he was settled back on the sofa, hands outstretched towards the fire, Valjean came to sit beside him with the usual glasses of wine. This was normal, familiar, and Javert began to feel calmer. They sipped at their wine and they talked of their days and it was all fine until he had to shiver. 

“Javert, you’re still cold. Are you feeling well?”

“Perfectly well, thank you.”

“I would believe you if your teeth were not chattering,” Valjean said, going to his bed and pulling the blankets from it. Javert watched in dismay as he brought them over to the sofa.

“Put this about your shoulders.”

“I do not-”

Valjean growled low in his throat and draped the blanket around Javert, then made a show of putting one around himself too. Javert saw him hesitate for a moment – a long, silent moment – before he sat down again, closer to Javert’s side. 

He reached out and took Javert’s hands in his own, rubbing them with his fingers to warm them, and it was almost too much. Valjean’s heat, pressed to his side, and his hands on his, was almost too much for Javert to bear. 

But god help him, it was warm. He was warm, when he so often was cold, and as he forced himself to relax into Valjean’s side, he took deep and steadying breaths. 

“You are precious to me, Javert,” Valjean said. “And I would not have you neglect yourself.”

“If it pleases you, I will be more careful.”

“It does.”

“Then I will.”

_Anything. He would do anything, if Valjean asked it._


End file.
